PS 3503 
.R228 
S6 
1904 
Copy 1 





Class _"pRi5_a^__ 

Book ^2.aiuk_ 

CoipghtN" 'ii'^ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



SONGS BY THE WAY 



Songs 
by the Way 



BY 

EDITH VIRGINIA BRADT 



New York and Washington 

The Neale Publishing Company 






LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

JAN 20 1904 

V Copyrignt £ntry 
(CLASS «- XXc. No. 
' COPY '8 



Copyright, 1904 
By EDITH VIRGINIA BRADT 






TO MY FATHER AND MOTHER 



"Like a morning bird my soul springs singing up- 
ward, into the deeps of heaven, through world on 
world, to follow infinite day." 

— Dinah Muloch CraiJc. 



CONTENTS. 

The Song of the Heart, 11 

"As Ye Would/' 12 

The SouFs Quest, 13 

Harbingers, 14 

The Way of Peace, 15 

At Harvest Time, 15 

The Sculptor's Vision, 16 

The Mission of the Kose, 17 

If We Could Know, 19 

"Consider the Lilies," 20 

The Every Day of Life, 21 

Influence, 22 

The Sweet Old Songs, 22 

She Only Sleeps, 24 

Prospect and lietrospect, 25 

A Song of Hope, 26 

Life's Weaving, 27 

"Into the Deep," ' 28 

Only, 28 

Of Countless Mothers, I am Only One," 30 

'j^he Legend of the Lily, 31 

Speak Your Love for Me To-day, 32 

Life's Builders, 34 

A Thanksgiving Parable, 35 

Seed-Time and Harvest, 36 

"Lux Benigna," 37 

Mary's Memorial, 38 

Scattered Sweets, 39 

The Time of the Singing of Birds, 40 

The Secret of Happiness, 41 

"Deo Gratias," 42 



Rene's Sacrifice, 43 

De Profundis, 44 

Our Country's Day of Days, 45 

Our Heroes' Battle Flag, 46 

The Organ Keeper's Story, 47 

The Whispering Birch, 49 

Memorial Day, 50 

Sweetest Things, 51 

Mizpah, 52 

"Ich Dien," 53 

Through the Century's Opening Door, 54 

The Lightened Cross, 55 

St. Christopher, 56 

Life's Afterwhile, 58 

Eesignation, 59 

The Message of the Eastertide, 60 

The Echo of the Angel's Song, 61 

Victory Through Surrender, 62 

Life's Reckoning, 64 

With the Dying Year, 65 

The New Year, 66 

They Also Serve, 67 

"There is no Other Life but the Eternal," 68 

Love's Yesterday, 68 

A Christmas Message, 70 

The Parting of the Ways, 71 

For He Careth for You, 72 

In the Streets Thereof, 73 

"Be of Good Cheer," 74 



"This morn I will sing my song/' she said, 
"While the day is young and fair; 

Ere its wearing fret and toil begin, 
Or my heart has felt its care. 

I will sing my song while the day is young; 

I will sing as I ne'er before have sung." 

She gaily lifted her fresh young voice, 
And its notes were clear and strong; 

But the hurrying throng had little thought 
For the singer or the song. 

She sang while the day was young and fair. 

Ere her heart felt aught of its fret and care. 

"This eve I must sing again," she said, 

"Aweary though I may be"; 
And passing sweet was the singer's voice. 

Though the song rose tremblingly. 
In the day's hard press she had borne her part, 
And she sang her song from a chastened heart. 

In the hush of the eventide she sang 

As she ne'er before had sung; 
And her voice was rich with a tenderness 

It lacked when the day was young. 
She sang at eve, and the passing throng 
Thanked God for the singer and the song. 



11 



"Ab ft WmUi" , 

If I should see 

A brother languishing in sore distress, 

And I should turn and leave him comfortless, 

When I might be 

A messenger of hope and happiness, — 

How could I ask to have what I denied. 

In my own hour of bitterness supplied? 

If I might share 

A brother^s load along the dusty way, 

And I should turn and walk alone that day, 

How could I dare — 

When in the evening watch I knelt to pray — 

To ask for help to bear my pain and loss. 

If I had heeded not my brother's cross. 

If I might sing 

A little song to cheer a fainting heart, 

And I should seal my lips and sit apart. 

When I might bring 

A bit of sunshine for life's ache and smart. 

How could I hope to have my grief relieved. 

If I kept silent when my brother grieved. 

And so I know 

That day is lost wherein I fail to lend 

A helping hand to some wayfaring friend: * 

But if it show 

A burden lightened by the cheer I send. 

Then do I hold the golden hours well spent, 

And lay me down to sleep in sweet content. 



12 



Oh, the golden stores of fancies! 

Oh, the joy-belFs mystic chime! 
As it rings the happy changes 

Of a rarer fairer clime, 
Where with trials all forgotten. 

In an ecstacy sublime. 
We shall revel in the beauty 

Of a radiant Sometime. 

How its shadows dance before us — 

Fairy things to guide the way; 
How its music echoes o'er us — 

Spirit orchestras at play; 
How we strain our ears to listen 

To the melodies that chime 
On the waveless shores we long for. 

In the radiant Sometime. 

Oh, the eager host advancing! 

Oh, the anxious hearts that pine ! 
As they catch the notes entrancing 

Just beyond the boundary line — 
Pressing with unwonted vigor 

Toward the long-desired clime, 
With its rainbow arch of promise, 

In the radiant Sometime. 

Oh, its blissful expectations — 

How they keep us from despair! 
As we wait hope's glad fruition. 

In the Sometime-land so fair. 
How the music swells triumphant 

As we catch its notes sublime. 
Wafted downward through the ages 

From a radiant Sometime. 



13 



Oh, the rare anticipations! 

Oh, the joys we hope to know! 
How the}^ dance before our vision, 

As they whisper soft and low, 
Of the heights of Satisfaction, 

Where our eager feet would climb, 
As we struggle on to reach them, 

In that radiant Sometime. 



Only a breath from the Southland; 

A glimpse of a bluebird's wing; 
The hurrying rills on the snow-capped hills. 

But they herald the coming spring. 

Only a violet lifting 

Its tender face to the sky; 
But the days grow long, and the sun is strong, 

And the summer is drawing nigh. 

Only a blossom-crowned orchard. 

Sweet with a perfume rare; 
But the soft winds blow, and the trees bend low, 

With the wealth of the promise there. 

Heralds of hope, we greet you ! 

Your promise is passing fair; 
And our glad hearts sing for the joy you bring, 

And the harbingers everywhere. 



14 



OII|0 Wan ^i '§mtt 

I sought the path of peace; 

So long I sought, and far, 
A place where naught might enter in 

My happiness to mar. 

I sought, and sought in vain. 

Until with fainting heart 
I turned about and found a place 

Where I could bear a part 

In lifting heavy loads; 

In sharing other^s woes; 
And in the path of duty, lo! 

I found my heart's repose. 

At iJ^nvrttBt (Sxmt 

A whir of wings, and a mottled trail 
Against the haze of the autumn sky; 

A lingering note from an eager throat, 
As the summer birds go by. 

A drift of leaves in the woodland ways, 

With the rarest hues of the summer's bloom— 

The gold and red of the garden bed 
Aflame in the wildwood gloom. 

A spicy breath from the burdened trees, 

Where the orchards yield their harvest store; 

And a burst of song from the reaper-throng 
When the harvest toil is o'er. 



15 



"So common are my tasks/' I said; 

But as I spoke complainingly, 
A quaint old legend I had read 

Came back to me. 

A sculptor — runs the story sweet — 
Sought marble without flaw or stain, 

And tools for his high purpose meet. 
But sought in vain. 

In every clime, in every land 

He sought, but naught he found sufficed; 
For he would carve, with reverent hand, 

The head of Christ. 

N'o marble pure enough he found; 

And worn, and spent, and spirit sore. 
He gave the weary, toilsome round 

Of journeying o'er. 

Sadly he bowed in contrite prayer; 

"0 Lord of love, forgive," he cried; 
And lo! a vision passing fair 

Stood by his side. 

"Look up, dear heart, be comforted," — 
The voice was strangely low and sweet, — 

"Thou needest not to carve my head, 
'Tis far more meet 

"That thou shouldst shape thy life by mine. 

And in thy daily ministry 
That thou shouldst show my life in thine 

Continually. 

16 



"Count no task common if to me 
Thou render it with willing heart; 

True ministry I hold to be 
Life's noblest art." 

The vision passed; with holy aim 
Upon his life the sculptor wrought, 

Which like unto his Lord's became, 
With service fraught. 

'Tis but a legend, but it taught 
This lesson passing sweet to me : 

No service which for Christ is wrought 
Can common be. 

High on a trellis climbed a fair white rose. 
And blossomed all alone; the while the air — 
All heavy-laden with its perfume rare — 

Caressed it with the softest breeze that blows. 

Came the lark and sang his sweetest sonnet; 

Sunbeams kissed it with the morning light; 

Fairy dew-drops crowned it every night; 
Gentle showers softly fell upon it. 

Green leaves clustered lovingly around it; 

Twinkling stars came one by one to find it; 

Moonbeams with a silvery chain entwined it; 
But no human eye had ever found it. 

Sighed the rose because its life was wasting; 

Breathed its very heart upon the air; 

Filled the breath of June with perfume rareS 
Sighed the rose because its death was hasting. 

********* 
17 



Pain-haunted, in a darkened room there laj^ 
A little child with anxious, pleading eyes. 
"If only I might have a rose," she cries, 

"I'd bear the pain so patiently to-day." 

And even as she spoke, some instinct led 
The loving watcher to the window-side, 
Where high upon the trellis she espied 

The first white rose within its leafy bed. 

Her eager fingers plucked it from the vine. 
And laid it, quivering with a keen delight. 
Beside the little face so pale and white. 

To breathe through all the room its perfume fine. 

And child and rose were wrapped in sweet content; 

The soft white leaves touched cheeks as soft and 
white ; 

Eare fragrance put the weary hours to flight, 
And each to each an added beauty lent. 

For every longing heart hope's fair, white rose 
Is blooming, 'tho it may be out of sight. 
Be patient, heart, and with the morning light 

Its fragrance will its hiding-place disclose. 



18 



M Wt (Umlh iKmim 

If we conld hear, as we pass along, 
The minor chords in our brother's song; 
If we could read 

The blotted lines in his once fair creed, 
"Would we not try- 
To lift him up, ere we passed him by? 

As we journey on, if we could know 

How tired the feet that come and go; 

If we could see 

The heavy burdens borne patiently — 

I wonder, friend. 

If we would not pause some aid to lend. 

In our busy haste if we could see 

The heart that bleeds for our sympathy; 

If we could guess 

How utter our brother's loneliness, 

Would we not stay 

To cheer him a little on his way? 

If we but knew of the bitter tears. 

Of sorrows borne through the weary years, 

Would we not be 

A bit more kind in our ministry? 

When hearts are sad, 

A bit more eager to make them glad? 

A solemn charge is the life we bear; 

Fleeting it is, but it may be fair 

If we but heed 

The outstretched hands and the hearts that plead. 

And day by day. 

Strew deeds of kindness along their way. 

19 



It was only an earthen vessel 

By a weary worker's loom; 
But a bunch of snowy lilies, 

With their delicate perfume. 
Concealed its imperfections 

And glorified the room. 

They filled the air with their fragrance 
And brightened the room with their grace ; 

They smiled on the weary toilers 
And lightened each care-worn face. 

Till it seemed that a benediction 
Was resting on all the place. 

And the humble earthen vessel, 
That had seemed of no use before, 

'Neath its freight of snowy lilies 
A glorified image wore: 

It was reckoned a part of the blessing; 
A share in the honor bore. 

Our lives are but earthen vessels 

In the busy haunts of care; 
But in patient burden-bearing 

We may make them wondrous fair; 
And our deeds of loving service 

Are the lilies that we bear. 



20 



0Jj^ lEu^rg Say of Kxfr 

The man who stands on the topmost round 

Of the storied ladder of fame, 
On the scroll of life, with a steady hand, 

May proudly carve his name. 
But the man who cams the victor's crown. 

And wins in earth's mad strife. 
Is the man who knows and. does the right 

In the everday of life. 

The palm and the laurel-wreath may go 

To the man the world calls great. 
Who wields the sceptre, and leads the van 

In the merry march of fate. 
But the man who lives in the hearts of men. 

In the midst of earth's mad strife. 
Is the man .who serves his fellow-man 

In the everyday of life. 

The world is wide and its gilded charms 

Are more than passing fair; 
But it gives at best but an empty name 

To the men who do and dare. 
But the man whose name is written high 

Above earth's toil and strife. 
Is the man who nobly conquers self 

In the everday life. 



21 



dintimntt 

A rainbow in the sky — 

And on the bosom of a thousand streams 

A thousand rainbows lie; 

The river and the brook alike reflect 

The radiant arch on high. 

So may my little life 

Touch other lives with beautifying power; 

Amid earth^s care and strife, 

Where'er I go along the storm-swept paths. 

May rainbow tints be rife. 

Would that I could hear the music of the dear old 

hymns once more 
As I heard the choir sing them in the happy days of 

yore 
In the quaint old village chapel, where the overhanging 

trees 
Eustled, in responsive measure, in the gentle summer 

breeze. 

How the memory fills and thrills me! almost I can 

hear again 
"Eock of Ages, Cleft for Me," as I used to hear it 

then; 
And across my fevered spirit waves of consolation roll 
As I seem to hear them singing "Jesus, Lover of My 

Soul.'' 



22 



I have heard the world's great singers; they have 

thrilled me with their art. 
But to-night the sweet old music steals into my 

troubled heart, 
And the fair, celestial city almost bursts upon my 

sight 
As I hear them softly singing "I Can Tarry but a 

Night." 

"I'm a Pilgrim and a Stranger," aye the palace of de- 
light 

Seems to open to receive me as I sit and dream to- 
night 

Of the sweet old hymns that charmed me in the care- 
free days gone by. 

When on wings of song we mounted to the "Mansions 
in the Sky." 

"Blest Be the Tie That Binds," I hear them singing as 

of yore, 
And above me bend the faces of the loved ones gone 

before; 
Soon for me will come the summons, soon Fll join with 

sweet accord 
In the glad, triumphal chorus, "Holy, Holy, Holy I 

Lord." 



23 



She is not dead — she only sleeps the sleep 
Of one who wearied with her toil, gives o'er. 

And falls into a slumber sweet and deen, 
To waken on the bright, eternal shore. 

She is not dead — we will not have it so; 

The busy hands, close-folded on her breast — 
The feet that were so swift to come and go 

Had grown earth-weary, and God gave them rest. 

She is not dead — the old-time smile is there 
Upon the lips that never failed to smile 

On every object of her love and care. 
She is not dead — she only sleeps awhile. 

She is not dead — and though we weep to-day, 
Low-bending o'er her quiet, flower-strewn bed. 

We cannot feel that she is far away, — 

She only sleeps, — we know she is not dead. 



24 



It is the morning: 
Trackless before me lies the path of day; 
No foot has ever trod the unbroken way; 
The untried hours are heavy with the freight 
Of all the possibilities that wait. 
Oh day, Oh perfect day but just begun. 
What of my record at the set of sun? 
God grant to make me strong, and brave, and true. 
That evening may find nothing to undo. 

It is the even-tide: 
With tear-dimmed eyes I look along the way 
My wayward feet have traveled all the day — 
The fair and flawless day that I have marred; 
The trackless path that I have seamed and scarred 
With many an uncertain footstep, many a fall; 
The unfilled hours, now gone beyond recall — 
Alas ! the day I meant to keep so fair 
Has scarce a trace of beauty anywhere. 

Lord of love, forgive! 
With heart bowed down I give thee back thy day; 
No deed can I undo, no word unsay; 
Unbound, my sheaves lie all about my feet. 
And every task is sadly incomplete — 
Little of good have I to offer thee. 
Father, forgive, and grant to vouchsafe me 
Another day, and with the day the grace 
A fairer record on its page to trace. 



25 



"In the morning" — 
Oh, blessed words of hope and cheer! 
What though the night be dark and drear. 
And hot tears fall like summer rain, 
I know that joy will come again — 
In the morning. 

And what though storms of sorrow blow, 
And all my treasured hoj^es lie low; 
What though my heart with grief be numb. 
Full well I know that joy will come 
In the morning. 

E'en though the morn be long delayed, 
Oh, heart of mine, be undismayed, 
For still I hear the sweet refrain : 
"Be patient; joy will come again, 
In the morning." 

Blessed morning! 

Thy beams shall fall upon my heart 
And bid the shades of night depart; 
My life, all purified by pain, 
Be meet to welcome joy again, 
In the morning. 



26 



We are weaving the thread of our life-webs 

Day by day, 
And its colors are sometimes somber^ 

Sometimes gay; 
For we dye it with every passing thought, 
And with words and deeds is the pattern wrought. 

The pattern will grow into likeness 

Of our creed; 
If the thought be loving and tender, 

Fair the deed, 
It glows with a beauty rich and rare. 
And its fadeless colors are passing fair. 

But, alas, it is interwoven 

Oft with sin. 
And the somber thread of an evil thought 

Is woven in. 
The pattern is marred as the shuttles fly, 
And the colors fade as the days go by. 

We are weaving our webs for eternity 

Day by day. 
If we make the pattern beautiful. 

As we may, 
The Master-weaver will, one by one. 
Test the glowing colors and say "Well done!'' 

Our weaving days will be over 

By and by, 
And the busy shuttles motionless, 

And silent lie. 
God grant that each weaver may do his best. 
That his finished fabric may stand the test. 

27 



The empty nets trailed in the quiet sea 

That held its own within its close embrace. 

The little boat had moved from place to place. 
But still the fishermen toiled fruitlessly 

Until the night was o'er, 

And spent with toil they fain would go ashore. 

The morning broke in glory o'er the sea 
As on the sun-kissed shore One stood alone, 
Yearning with pitying heart to bless his own: 

And, hopeless, they knew not that it was he 
WIlo stood upon the shore, 
Until he greeted them as oft of yore. 

"Launch out into the deep!" he cried. "In vain 
They seek the prize who linger near the shore.'^ 
And lo ! their nets were filled as ne'er before. 

As at his word they let them down again. 
Where, many fathoms deep. 
The waters could their own no longer keep. 

And so to hopeless toilers on life's sea 

There comes a voice from yonder sun-kissed shore; 

"Launch out into the deep ! and evermore 
Thy lowered nets shall fall to breaking be." 

So, heart of mine, set sail. 

And cast thy nets where blessings never fail. 

®nlg 

Only a violet. 

Blue as the skies; 
But it mirrors the spring 

In its azure eyes. 

28 



Only a lark, 

High in the air; 
But it sings of hope, 

And the world grows fair. 

Only the patter 

Of April showers; 
But they wake to life 

The sweet May flowers. 

Only a word 

Tenderly spoken; 
But it comforts a heart 

That is well-nigh broken. 

Only a song 

From a fresh young heart ; 
But it cheers a life 

That is lived apart. 

Only a friend 

In a time of need; 
But it saves a soul 

From an evil deed. 

And song, and bird. 
And April shower; 

i\.nd friend, and word. 
And sweet May flower. 

Are but a part 

Of God's great plan 
To teach the lessons 

Of life to man. 



29 



**m (EmntkBB ilntlj^rs, 31 am ©nig On^'* * 

With breaking heart a heathen mother bore 
Her dead child in her arms from door to door. 

In vain she sought a remedy for death, 

For none coukl bring again the fluttering breath. 

Then sped she with her swift and anxious feet 
Among the pilgrims in the crowded street. 

And cried aloud in bitter agony, 
^'^Alas! is there not one to pity me? 

"In all the multitude is there not one 
To bring to life again my little son?'' 



Before her grief the hurrying throng was dumb; 
But one who sought to comfort her said, "Come, 



"And let us haste to yonder temple dim 
Where Tara Taken is, and unto him 

"Thy story thou shalt tell, and he will give 
His blessing, and thy little son shall live." 

With heart aflame she sought the sacred place 
And fell before the Wise Man on her face. 

"Daughter," he said, "arise, thy prayer is heard. 
And Tara Taken pledges thee his word 

"That ere this harvest moon has waned thy son 
Shall live again, if thou canst find him one 

30 



"From out whose home has gone no precious life; 
'No husband, parent, children, slave, nor wife/^ 

Then up and down the street she passed again, 
But everywhere her eager quest was vain. 

"Ah, woe is me!" in piteous grief she cried; 
"In every home some precious one has died. 

"Of countless mothers I am only one 
To bury from my sight my little son.'' 



Not as the common flowers of earth 
The Easter lily had its birth; 
'Not as the myriad flowers that grow 
In common soil, and bud and blow 
Where multitudes pass to and fro. 

But in a garden, still and fair. 
And balmy in the Easter air, 
While yet the early morning gloom 
Cast shadows on the riven tomb. 
The peerless flower began to bloom. 

Thus runs the legend, quaint and sweet: 
Wher'er the Master's pierced feet 
In Joseph's garden touched the ground, 
A strange and wondrous flower was found, 
Its perfume stealing all around. 



31 



The pathway from the shadowy tomb 
Was starred with lilies all abloom; 
Stately and sweet beyond compare. 
The hurrying women found them there, 
And marveled at a flower so fair. 

They called it "lily," and to-day 
Upon our Easter shrines we lay 
The stately, golden-hearted flower. 
Which first in that glad Easter hour 
Gave proof of resurrection power. 



Bpmk f 0«r ffinu^ for m^ JEa-hu^ 

The new-made grave is closed, and covered o'er 

With tributes rare; 
The fairest flowers that tender hands could bring 

Are scattered there. 



And underneath lies one whose life has been 

So full of care. 
So heavy with the burdens none had thought 

To help her bear; 

Whose hungrv heart has oftentimes cried out 

Appealingly 
For love's expression, and for tender words 

Of sympathy. 

Ah, friends, too late you bring your costly flowers; 

Too late your tears — 
For her hath sweetly dawned the light of Heaven's 

Eternal years. 

32 



And now it matters not at all to lier. 

That on her grave 
Are strewn the flowers that in her life of care 

You never gave. 

She needs not now the love that in her life 

She needed much; 
She cares not for your sympathy, nor craves 

Your tender touch. 

She heeds not that above her coffined clay 

You drop your tears 
And speak the words of praise you have withheld 

Through weary years. 

Too late ! for while you weeping bend above 

The flower-strewn sod, 
Forevermore she dwells in peace among 

The saints of God. 

Friends, speak your love for me to-day, nor let 

Me vainly crave 
The tribute that your hands will lay upon 

My new-made grave. 



33 



Like little children building on the sand. 

How oft we plan, and rear with foolish pride 

The flimsy structures that cannot withstand 
The rising of the swiftly flowing tide. 

And when our sand-built houses are laid low. 
How often we return, and childishly 

Begin to build again, e'en though we know 
How false the promise of the placid sea; 

E'en though we know how frail the house of sand. 
How pitiless the tide, how sure its rise — 

"We build our castles on the gleaming strand 
And yield them to the sea a sacrifice. 

Swept by the tides of years, at last we stand — 
Bereft and sick at heart, our labor lost — 

Alone upon the treacherous, tide-washed strand. 
And learn life's lesson at its bitterest cost. 



34 



Within a gallery where hang the gems 

The world has crowned with fame's fair diadems, 

A treasure house complete, — 
I pass along the corridors, and turn 
From light to shade, from glad to sad, and learn 

A lesson strangely sweet. 

For here a picture breathes of Joy untold. 
And there one tells of sorrows manifold; 

But still the master-hand 
In every well-directed touch I see; 
In sad and glad life's lesson comes to me, 

And I can understand. 

For life is but a gallery wherein 

The boundless mercies of the Lord are seen; 

Where by his master-hand 
The lights and shadows skilfully are blent, 
And glad and sad alike in love are sent. 

And all is wisely planned. 

So may I take thy gifts, Lord of all. 

And hang them, one by one, on memory's wall, 

And with a glad surprise, 
In light and shade, see life grow fair and sweet; 
Through glad and sad thy work become complete 

Before my wondering eyes. 



35 



Seed-time and nesting birds — 

The air is all heavy with perfume rare, 
The hope of the summer is everywhere. 

And a joy too full for words. 

Orchards all blossom-crowned — 

The old earth wrapped in the mantle of spring, 

A brooding promise in everything, 
And a happiness new found. 

Skies with an azure light — 

Zephyrs that scatter their sweets as they pass, 
And violets dotting the springing grass. 

And a world all fair and bright. 

H: ^ H: Hi ^ H< 

Harvest and birds a-wing — 

Orchard and vineyard with rich fruitage crowned. 
And a golden sheen on the sheaves well-bound — 

Fulfilment in everything. 

Leaves that flutter and fall — 

And skies that mourn ^neath a mystic veil 
For the fading beauty of hill and vale, 

And a sweet peace over all. 

Life has its spring and fall, 

Its singing birds, and its birds a-wing; 
Its fair seed-time and its harvesting. 

And the dear Lord over all. 

Life has its falling leaf — 

When the Eeaper gathers the ripened grain, 
And binds it securely with lovers strong chain 

In a shining golden sheaf. 

36 



"Lead, kindly Light/^ 
Happy the song of youth and blithe the heart ; 
Life's paths untried, unfelt life's ache and smart; 

Adown the years 

Life's fair mirage to eager eyes appears. 

"Lead, kindly Light"; 
Life in its fullness sends the tender prayer 
Upon the wings of song through all the air; 

By night and day 

It craves the Light upon its onward way. 

"Lead, kindly Light"; 
^Tis sorrow cries, through swiftly falling tears ; 
Life's joys grow dim; its gladness disappears; 

Oh, radiant Light! 

Dispel the gathering shadows of the night. 

"Lead, kindly Light"; 
Dark grows the way; the sky is overcast: 
Life's little day is ebbing sure and fast; 

Lead through the night, 

Till faith forevermore be lost in sight. 



37 



"Let her alone!" And at the Master's word 
The stern rebuke is hushed. The while the air 
Is heavy-laden with a perfume rare, 

As Mary pours her gift upon her Lord. 

"Let her alone! Her costly offering, 
With love and sacrifice so richly fraught, 
A goodly work on me, her Lord, hath wrought; 

Her royal gift doth honor to her King. 

"Let her alone ! What she hath done this da}^. 
While ages roll, shall unforgotten be; 
Where'er the Gospel's preached from sea to sea 

It shall be a memorial for aye." 

blessed words of comfort! Understood 
So well by tired Marys of to-day — 
What joy if e'en of me the Master say, 

"Let her alone; she hath done what she could." 



38 



Only a bunch of lilies 

Clustering at my feet. 

Unconscious of their beauty — 

Wafting their fragrance sweet; 
Only some lilies in white array, 
But my heart was cheered the livelong day. 

Only a burst of music 

Floating through the night, 

Through shutters partly opened — 

The singer out of sight; 
Only a song, but it thrilled my heart 
As i sat in my lonely home apart. 

Only a quiet whisper — 

A sympathetic smile, 

A tender word of comfort, 

My sorrow to beguile; 
Only a smile and a whispered word. 
But my troubled heart was strangely stirred. 

Only a strong hand offered 

To help me bear my load. 

As my neighbor journeyed with me 

Along the dusty road; 
Only a burden shared ; but the way 
Was shorter by half than yesterday. 

The clustered lilies gathered 

Fresh sweetness all the day; 

The singer's tender carol 

Still echoes on its way; 
And the tender smile, and the whispered words. 
Lodge in my heart like nested birds. 

39 



^^The time of the singing of birds is come'' — 
The singing of birds, and the pnrling of brooks. 
And the springing of flowers in vernal nooks; 
The time of the blossom on bough and spray, 
When the earth is glad and the heart is gay. 

"The time of the singing of birds is come" — 
The singing of birds, and the bursting of bloom, 
The shine of the sun, and the wind-blown perfume; 
The time when the crystalline air is rife 
With the brooding charm of a quickened life. 

"The time of the singing of birds is come'' — 
The singing of birds, and the glow of the sky; 
The fall of the dew, and the wind's lullaby; 
The singing of birds, and the promise of June, 
And the glad refrain of a heart in tune. 



40 



®Iy0 S^ttvtt of ^nppxmBSi 

Whither away, my soul? 

I go to seek life's goal — 

The far-famed spring of human happiness; 

I seek it near and far, 

But like yon shooting star 

It flashes, and I lose it in the press. 

The mountain heights I scale, 

And lo! ^tis in the vale; 

But when I swift descend the mountain side. 

The shadow lies below. 

And thus, where'er I go 

My search is vain — my heart unsatisfied. 

Oh foolish heart, be still! 

Go wheresoe'er you will, 

Your idle quest will still avail you naught; 

Elusive as a dream 

Is yonder radiant gleam — 

It lures you, but denies the gift you sought. 

Know you that happiness 

Is for him to possess 

Who stands foursquare with God, and does his 

best; 
Who lives for God and man 
Works out life's noblest plan; 
By him unsought is happiness possessed. 



41 



The good monk Felix, at the evenmg bell, 
Knelt long in prayer within his quiet cell, 
And from his lips the words devoutly fell — 
"Deo Gratias/' 

His lot in life to him seemed right and good. 
And always for the poor and scanty food 
His heart cried out in love and gratitude — 
"Deo Gratias.^' 

He stood within the monastery gate. 
His hand stretched through the bars, for alms to wait, 
And for each gift he cried with heart elate — 
"Deo Gratias." 

The little children, passing to and fro, 
Would oftentimes their tiny gifts bestow. 
And wonder, as they heard in accents low — 
"Deo Gratias/'' 

The years passed by; the monk grew worn and old; 
He suffered oft with hunger, oft with cold ; 
But still he cried: "For mercies manifold — 
Deo Gratias." 

God took him ; and above his grave they placed 
A rudely fashioned cross, on which they traced 
In letters which have never been effaced — 
"Deo Gratias/' 

The centuries have passed; but Felix still 
Speaks on, in hearts that know and love God's will, 
Content to sav, through s^ood report and ill — 

"Deo Gratias.'' 

f 

42 



(A Legend of the Valley of Chambra.) 

There was drought in the A^alley of Chambra, 

And death and despair; 
The piteous wails of the dying 

Eose shrill on the air. 

Little children were fading like flowers; 

Again and again 
For a draught of life-giving water 

They pleaded in vain. 

Alas ! there was no one to help them, 

No strong hand to stay 
The march of the Angel of Death 

On his pitiless way — 

"Unless/' said the oracle, "Eene, 

The princess, will give 
Her noble young life ; for thus only 

Her people may live.'' 

"I am ready," said Eene, the princess ; 

"Delay not, I pray!" 
And to die for her perishing people 

They led her away. 

Then swift from her grave on the hillside, 

As a bird on the wing. 
There flowed o'er the desolate valley 

A life-giving spring. 



43 



As a river in volume, the waters • 

Were hurried along, 
Bringing joy to the valley of Chambra, 

And laughter and song. 

And the dear little famishing children 

Were happy again; 
No longer for draughts of cool water 

They pleaded in vain. 

It is only a mystical legend — 

A fable of old; 
But a lesson more striking and tender 

No fable could hold. 

If PrnfunbtB 

(On the Death of President McKinley.) 

W^rapped in her veil of tears, the Nation bends 
With anguished heart above her martyred dead. 

Lord God of Hosts, to thee our prayer ascends 
That in our grief we may be comforted. 

We cannot fathom thy mysterious way — 
Thy face is hid; but as beneath the rod 

We pass with hearts bowed down, we hear thee say : 
"Be still! Be still!— and know that I am God.'' 

Aye, God of Nations, thou art with us yet, 

E'en though from out the depths we lift our cry; 

E'en though our sorely-stricken hearts forget — 
Yet in our stress and sorrow thou art nigh. 

Nigh to the Nation keeping watch to-day. 

With anguished heart, beside her martyred dead; 

Nigh as with one accord we humbly pray 
That in our grief we may be comforted. 

44 



(A Meditation for Independence Day.) 

Oh land of lands ! our fathers paid the price 

Of all this fair and goodly heritage; 
With pain and want, with toil and sacrifice — 

We read the record stamped on history's page. 

We read and question: Are we brave as they? 

Have we the courage still to dare and do? 
The strength to face the issues of the day 

With hearts that thrill with purpose high and true? 

Undaunted in the stormy days of old, 

With swords unsheathed they fared forth to the 
fray; 
And we, Oh land of lands, would still uphold 

Thy stainless record in this better day. 

In peace or turmoil we would boldly stand, 

Oh land of lands, where we can serve thee best — 

Serve till the highest good our fathers planned 
Is thine from North to South, from East to West; 

Serve with a lofty aim and righteous deed. 

Though many scoff, and few there be that praise. 

Thus would we sign and seal the patriot's creed. 
And honor thee on this thy day of days. 



45 



(Dedicated to the Tenth Pennsylvania Eegiment, upon 
its Keturn from the Philippines.) 

Brilliant are the colors flying o'er our heroes' heads to- 
day; 

Not a stain to mar their beauty, ne'er a mark of march 
or fray. 

But no banner waving o'er them shines with luster half 
so bright 

As the tattered flag they carried in the thickest of the 
fight. 

Where the blistering sun fell on them like a rain of 

molten fire, 
And the way through tangled thickets lay, or through 

the marsh and mire. 
On the long and weary march it waved above them day 

and night — 
The tattered flag they carried in the thickest of the 

fight. 

When the shot and shell were flying, and the awful 

fight was on, 
And the blood of heroes paid the price of every victory 

w^on. 
There, above the scenes of carnage, like a holy beacon 

light. 
Shone the tattered flag they carried in the thickest of 

the fight. 



46 



Set the brilliant banners flying, it is meet on this glad 

day 
That they wave in countless numbers o'er our heroes* 

homeward way, 
But no other flag will shine for them with luster half 

so bright 
As the tattered flag they carried in the thickest of the 

fight. 

In the dim old Freiburg Cathedral, 

AVith its aisles of fretted stone. 
And its saint-emblazoned windows, 

An old man toiled alone. 
And as oft as he passed the organ 

With its pipes of burnished gold. 
He sought to waken its music 

With his fingers worn and old. 



Full often a weary pilgrim 

From his journey turned aside. 
Shutting out the world and its burdens — 

Forgetting its pomp and pride — 
To rest in the hushed Cathedral, 

And breathe out his heart in prayer; 
And always, within the shadows 

The old man waited there. 

When the pilgrim, refreshed and strengthened, 

In the silence turned away. 
He suddenly stepped before him. 

And gently whispered, "stay.''' 
Then leading him to the organ 

He told in his childish pride 
How his touch had called forth its music 

Ere age had set him aside. 

47 



And how, even now, save the master's, 

His hands alone had the right 
To touch the wonderful organ; 

And though but to keep it bright 
And free from dust and defilement 

He toiled in the temple dim. 
Yet his spirit soared when the master played, 

Eesponsive to every hymn. 

There came to the great Cathedral, — 

Goes the story, — one golden day, 
A pilgrim who paused by the organ. 

And slipped on the bench to play. 
But the old man sternly forbade him: 

"No stranger may touch it," said he; 
"To touch the Cathedral organ 

Is but for the master, and me.^' 

But heedless of all denial, 

Eegardless of all reproof. 
The music fell from his fingers 

And rose to the vaulted roof. 
It echoed through nave and transept; 

It throbbed with a harmony rare. 
Till it seemed that the music of heaven 

Was trembling upon the air. 

And hushed into wondering silence. 

With his worn old face aglow, 
It seemed to the organ-keeper 

That angels were bending low, 
And striking their harps together 

In a grand, triumphant hymn. 
To echo in strains celestial 

Through the temple vast and dim. 

48 



The music ceased, and the stranger 

Stepped down with a shining face; 
But the awe-struck organ-keeper 

Still stood in his wonted place. 
With a quivering voice, and tender, 

For pardon he humbly prayed. 
"Ne'er/'^ said he, "in Freiburg Cathedral 

Has music so rare been played." 

With his fathers the old organ-keeper 

Has slept for many a year; 
But still in Freiberg Cathedral 

The quaint old tale you may hear. 
For still they tell to the pilgrims. 

How by a stranger outdone, 
The old man listened with rapture 

To the playing of Mendelssohn. 

Long ago there lived a princess — 
Slender, graceful, very fair; 

Clad in rare and costly raiment. 
Jewels gleaming in her hair. 

Green the robes she wore in summer. 
But in autumn, we are told, 

With her own fair hands the princess 
Wove a robe of shining gold. 

But alas! this lovely princess — 
So the quaint old story goes — 

Whispered, whispered, always whispered. 
Till in answer there arose . 



49 



One who long had frowned upon her, — 

Queen of all the fairies she, — 
And with magic wand uplifted 

Changed her to a slender tree. 

"Whisperer!" cried the angry fairy, 

"Tell your secrets to the breeze; 
Evermore within the forest 

Must you stand among the trees." 

So she stands, so tall and slender. 

Whispering, whispering, day and night; 

Wearing, still, green robes in summer. 
And in autumn, golden-bright. 

iKrmnrial Sag 

Lifting the veil of the vanished years, 

Piercing the shade and the mist, 
Close by the side of the garlanded graves, 

Memory is keeping her tryst. 

Sweet is the May-time, and sweet are the flowers, 

But sweeter by far to be, 
Tho' the years may come, and the years may go, 

Beloved of Memory. 

And whether the towering marble shaft, 

Or whether the nameless stone. 
It matters not, for she knows them all. 

And marks them all for her own. 

Ah, sweet is the May-time and sweet the flowers, 

But sweetest of all is the thought 
To Memory's heart, of the noble deeds 

That her hero dead have wrought. 

50 



The sweetest flowers are the flowers that bloom 

In the busy haunts of life. 
That fill the air with their sweet perfume 

In the midst of the toil and strife. 

The sweetest songs are the songs we sing 

In the ceaseless rounds of care. 
Where sad hearts thrill with the cheer they bring 

To the weary toilers there. 

The sweetest joy is the joy to give 

Of the best our lives afford, 
And just to trust, each day we live, 

In the fulness of the Lord. 

It may be mine 
The stormy waves to breast; 

It may be thine 
By quiet streams to rest; 

Yet everywhere 
The Lord His watch doth keep — 

His tender care 
Guards e'en His wandering sheep. 



51 



It may be mine 
The mountain heights to scale; 

It may be thine 
To skirt the shadowy vale; 

And yet I know 
That He will keep its there — 

We cannot go 
Beyond His guardian care. 

It may be mine 
To drink at Marah's well; 

It may be thine 
In tents of ease to dwell; 

And yet between, 
His loving care shall be, 

And he will e'en 
Keep watch 'twixt me and thee. 

It may be mine 
To reach the promised land; 

It may be thine 
On that bright shore to stand. 

The path is steep 
For weary feet to roam, 

But He will keep 
His w^atch, and bring us home. 



52 



**34 mm* 

(I Serve.) 

A happy servitude, because I know, 
On whatsoever errand I may go. 

That all the while 

My dear Lord's smile 
Will make my sunshine when the clouds bend low. 

A royal servitude, because I wait 

Upon the King of Kings enthroned in state; 

And day by day, 

Along the way, 
He heeds my service, whether small or great. 

A blessed servitude, because my Lord 

Asks nothing that my strength cannot afford; 

So patiently 

He bears with me. 
And crowns my service with a rich reward. 



53 



The centuries move on^ 

A glorious march of epoch-making years; 

And lo! the star of Progress still appears 
To light the coming dawn. 

Through the swift-opening door, 

As in a magic mirror we behold 

Our treasured hopes rise grandly, fold on fold. 
To heights untouched before. 

All barriers swept awa}^ 

From out the golden dreams of ages past 
The Unattained leaps forth, to wield at last 

An undisputed sway. 

And in the wilderness 

Are prophet-voices crying night and day: 
"Press on ! Press on ! who seeks the upward way 

The fair land shall possess." 

Oh gracious, glad new year ! 

Oh dawning century ! Oh potent hour 

So full of possibility and power! 
What have our hearts to fear 

Save their own faithlessness? 

Thou God of all the Ages, hear our prayer; 

Uphold us as we strive to do and dare, 
And. guide, and guard, and bless. 



54 



®1|0 ffit^ljtpn^a (!Ir0BSi 

When sorrow came I lifted in despair 

The heavy cross ; 
It seemed to me I could not learn to bear 

My pain and loss. 

AVith faltering feet, half -fainting and distressed, 

From day to day, 
Beneath the grievous load I sadly pressed 

My weary way. 

My heavy eyes with unshed tears were dim; 

I could not see , -, ^ n . tt- 

The pitying glance and outstretched hands ot liim 
Who walked with me. 

I struggled on and knew not He was there; 

But when the road 
Through tangled thickets led, I could not bear 

Alone my load. 

"1 cannot bear this burden, Lord!'' I cried, 

"This pain and loss;" 
And lo ! I saw Him standing at my side, 
To share my cross. 

"I have been near thee all the way, dear heart,'' 

He said to me. 
"How couldst thou think that I would walk apart. 

Nor succor thee? 

"I saw thy, lagging footsteps and I came 

So close to thee , 
I thought that thou would'st hear Me call thy name 

And answer me.'' 

55 



Alas! I had been blind so wilfully; 

I might have known • 

That one so loving would not suffer me 

To walk alone. 

But since I know that He is near to share 

My pain and loss, 
It is not grievous^ and with Him I bear 

My lightened cross. 

The stream was wide, the current swift and strong. 

But good St. Offerus feared not to breast 
The swelling tide, that he might speed along 

The pilgrim, at the river's brink distressed. 

Thus runs the legend, beautiful and old: 
One night the storm beat furious and high. 

When, resting from his labors manifold. 
The good Saint heard a feeble, wailing cry. 

He battled with the waves, nor rested till j 

He stood at length npon the farther shore ; I 

His search was vain; the pleading voice was still, | 



And in the darkness he returned once more. 



But lo ! again that cry fell on his ear ; , 

Again he plunged into the swelling tide, | 

With never thought of weariness nor fear, i 

To bear the pilgrim from the other side. | 

But once again his eager quest was vain — 

No stranger waited for his ministry ; 
Yet scarcely had he reached the shore again. 

When that same helpless cry rose pleadingly. 

56 



And when again he reached the farther shore, 
Amazed, he found a helpless little child: 

All tenderly the tiny load he hore, 

And plunged again into the breakers wild. 

But as he struggled with the angry tide 
His helpless burden strangely heavy grew; 

Until at last upon the homeward side 

A man, the Christ-Man, stood before his view. 

Oh wondrous vision ! Blessed ministry ! 

Oh happy Saint, and passing rich reward! 
"A little child thou servest faithfully. 

And thou hast done it unto me, thy Lord." 

"Christ-Offerus henceforth thy name shalt be; 

And every pilgrim succored in distress 
I will account as service done to me. 

And all thy labors I will richly bless." 

St. Christopher ! Like thee would we be found 
Beside the stream of human suffering; 

Like thee, for love of Christ, would we abound 
In lowly, self-forgetful ministering. 

Like thee, may it be ours the Christ to bear 
Where the dark streams of sin and sorrow run; 

And as we seek a brother's load to share. 
May it be ours to serve the Blessed One. 



57 



Oh heart of mine, be patient; 

Some glad da}^ — 
With all life's puzzling problems 

Solved for aye; 
With all its storms and doubtings 

Cleared away; 
With all its little disappointments past, — 
It shall be thine to understand at last. 

Be patient, some sweet day 

The anxious care, — 
The fears and trials, and the 

Hidden snare; 
The grief that comes upon thee 

Unaware, — 
Shall with the fleeting years be laid aside. 
And thou shall then be fully satisfied. 

Be patient ; keep thy life work 

Well in hand; 
Be trustful where thou canst not 

Understand ; 
Thy lot, whate'er it be. 

Is wisely planned — 
Whate'er its mysteries, God holds the key: 
Thou well canst trust him and bide patiently. 



58 



God knoweth best. It is not meet 
That we should murmur at his will ; 
T is ours to "suffer and be still/^ 

Low lying at his feet. 

He knoweth best. Our blinded eyes, 
So dim with unshed tears, can see 
No light athwart the gloom, till he 

Shall bid the clouds arise. 

He knoweth best. We cannot tell 
Wliy he doth sever tender ties; 
We only know that he is wise; 

He doeth all things well. 

He knoweth best. His love hath planned 
Each step that marks our onward way; 
^Tis is ours to trust him — come what may, 

"Our times are in his hand.'^ 

He knoweth best w^ho loveth best; 

He leadeth us from day to day; 

'T is ours to follow all the way, 
And leave to him the rest. 



59 



Last spring 
I laid a bulb beneath the cold, brown earth, 
And waited for its Easter blossoming. 
Sometimes, when storms raged fiercely all about. 
My anxious heart was given o'er to doubt. 
I thought my tender bulb must surely die 
Ere winter with its bitter storms passed by. 

But lo! 
I found to-day, upon a slender stalk, 
A stately lily, white as drifted snow, 
A sunbeam nestling in its heart of gold — 
A thing of beauty and of grace untold. 
And like a dream of incense, rich and rare. 
It sends its fragrance stealing through the air. 

And so 
The tender Father sends the Easter joy 
To hearts that faint when storms of sorrow blow. 
And white-winged Hope points from the buried dead 
To where the stately lily lifts its head, 
Breathing the message of the Eastertide : 
^'The Lord is risen that was crucified." 

Dear heart, 
The Lord of all the lilies loveth thee ; 
He grieves to see thee mourn and sit apart. 
Beyond earth's tears, and storms, and midnight gloomy 
In joy unspeakable thy loved ones bloom. 
They sing the message of the Eastertide: 
"The Lord is risen that was crucified." 



60 



Above the shining Christmas greens a silver star was 

beaming ; 
The holly-berries red like fairy lamps alight were 

gleaming ; 
The Christmas cheer was in the air, the Christmas bells 

were pealing, 
And through the stillness came the sound of Christmas 

music stealing. 

Among the worshippers I knelt in humble adoration; 
The peace of God seemed brooding o'er the waiting 

congregation, 
As up and down the stately aisles, the singers, white 

appareled, 
Breathed forth the Christmas message in the songs 

they sweetly caroled. 

"Behold," — the music rose and fell in notes of jubi- 
lation, — 

"Glad tidings of great joy we bring to every tribe and 
nation; 

Fear not! in yonder sleeping town is born a Kingly 
Stranger ; 

The long expected Saviour rests in Bethlehem's hum- 
ble manger.'' 

"Peace on the earth, good will to men," set all the 
echoes ringing! 

Let every heart be glad, and every happy voice be sing- 
ing. 

Be lifted up, ye hearts bowed down, forget your care 
and sadness; 

The Christ-child comes to bring the world a Christmas 
gift of gladness. 

61 



The music faint and fainter grew; a sudden hush fell 

o'er us, 
For Heaven's benediction came with that triumphal 

chorus ; 
It fell upon our waiting hearts and lifted them to 

Heaven, — 
The echo of the angel's song to weary mortals given. 

Utrtorg ®tfrou9i|[ g^urr^nb^r 

I planned, but when I thought to do 

God laid restraining hands on mine ; 

He held me while my fair design 
Into a lordly structure grew; 

But others wrought, 

AVhere I had thought 
That I alone the pattern knew. 

My heart cried out rebelliously; 

How vainly had my life been spent, 
While others won so easily 

The glory of accomplishment. 
A whelming tide 
Of wounded pride 

Filled all my soul with discontent. 

I tried to draw my hands away; 

Some other task I would begin; 
E'en yet some honor I would win. 
But still God gently whispered, "Nay," 

Eestraining still 

My stubborn will, 
And holding when I would not stay. 



62 



Until my restless hands at last 

Within his tender clasp were still; 

And yielding him my conquered will, 
My heart o'erflowed with peace so vast, — 

So passing sweet. 

So all-complete, — 
I praised him for the bitter past — 

The dear denials that have brought 
My wayward heart into the light 
Where faith seems better far than sight; 

The firm withholdings that have taught 
The joy of rest 
Upon his breast, 

Though other hands my task have wrought. 

To work or wait I am content ; 

My will in his I fain would lose, 

And plan or build as he may choose; 
Spending my life, or being spent — 

Thus may I rise 

Through sacrifice 
To glorious accomplishment. 



63 



To love — mark you, to love; 

Not to bestow "apon a chosen few 

Affection which is every creature's due. 

God never meant that any human heart 

Should bid a loveless fellow-man depart. 

Nay rather, his divine economy 

Hath made provision bountiful and free. 

Whereby the heart in giving groweth rich; 

In scattering, increaseth. By the which 

The lover is beloved, and his way 

Can never be all barren, come what may. 

For love enkindleth love, and rich is he 

Who loves his fellow-man unsparingly. 

Therefore, I hold through earth's unequal strife. 

That life is love, and only love is life. 



64 



Old Year, farewell; 

Sadly I ring for thee 
A parting knell. 
I thought to fill thy fleeting days with sweetness. 
And lo! they mock me with their incompleteness. 

I thought some seeds 

Of helpfulness to sow; 
Some noble deeds 
To trace upon thy page while thou didst wait — 
Thy book is closed; alas! it is too late. 

I thought to cheer 

So many fainting ones; 
Alas! I hear 
Upon the midnight air their piteous moan: 
"We asked for bread; thou gavest us a stone." 

I thought to share 
My brother's crushing load; 
To help him bear 

His heavy burden with love's mystic spell — 

Alas! I lingered, and my brother fell. 

So day by day 

The deeds I would have done 
I put away 
A more convenient season to await — 
The year is dead; alas! it is too late. 

Father, forgive, 

And through the coming year 
Help me to live 
Through every passing day, so close to thee, 
That thou may'st own and bless my ministry. 

65 



(Sift '^tm ^mv 

Eing out, ye glad bells, with a joyous acclaim! 
rTom tower and belfry a welcome proclaim ! 
Let the whispering winds lift the happy refrain. 
For the year with his promise is coming again. 

On the wings of the morning he comes on his way. 
And the zephyrs of evening invite him to stay; 
While the spirit of Hope, with an infinite grace, 
"Weaves about him the spell of a deathless embrace. 

Unsullied and fair are the garments he wears; 
Unwritten the leaves of the book that he bears — 
In the hush of the midnight our names are enrolled. 
And he waits for the record our lives shall unfold. 

Eing out, ye glad bells, sound the joyful refrain! 
For the year with his promise is coming again. 
Alike to the cot and the gay castle hall 
He sendeth his cheer. Happy Xew Year to all ! 



LcfC. 



66 



QUft^ AIb0 S^tvrxt 

I would, dear Lord, that Thou shouldst set for me 

Some noble task; 
That I may prove the love I bear for Thee 

Is all I ask. 

Long time I waited, till my heart at last 

Impatient grew; 
Still but the common duties of the past 

I found to do. 

Only the old-time weariness and pain, 

The well known cross; 
The labors manifold and ofttimes vain, 

The bitter loss. 

Only the wonted round of daily care 

And anxious thought; 
The burdens I had always had to bear — 

Not these I sought. 

"0 Lord!" I cried again impatiently, 

"But this I ask: 
Set me, that I may prove my love for Thee, 

Some noble task." 

And lo ! a voice made answer, clear and sweet; 

"Oh, child of mine, 
Thy common duties are a service meet, 

A task divine. 



67 



'*Eifn^xB m ®%r ©ft but % ^UvmV* 

(Last words of Phillips Brooks.) 

"There is no other life but the eternal." 
The period of our brief existence here 

Is but a reaching after things supernal, 
A smile, a falling tear. 

"There is no other life but the eternal." 
The pilgrimage entwined with deeds of love 

Shall find its record in the great Accountant's journal, 
Balanced in courts above. 

'Twas only yesterday 
That floods of sunshine bathed my happy heart, 
And in life's sweetest strains I bore a part. 

I caroled all day long 

In careless, happy song, 
Yesterday. 

joyous yesterday! 
No cloud obscured the brightness of thy sun; 
Thy golden hours were freighted, one by one. 

With gifts I scarcely prized; 

With joys half -realized — 
Yesterday. 



68 



Oh pain-fraught yesterday! 
Thy sunset glory flooded earth and sea, 
When in the gathering gloom all suddenly. 

My treasure went away 

To never ending day — 
Yesterday. 

Oh love-crowned yesterday! 
Thy fragrant memories crowd upon my heart. 
As in my darkened home I sit apart, 

And miss the fond caress; 

The love and tenderness 
Of yesterday. 

Oh sweet, sad yesterday! 
Life's music holds henceforth a minor strain, 
A chord that vibrates with a note of pain; 

The faint, sweet echoes ring 

With songs I cannot sing — 
Since yesterday. 

Oh far-off yesterday! 
My heart would fain recall love's mute caress. 
And meet it with an answering tenderness; 

Too late! through tear-dimmed eyes 

I see love's sacrifice. 
Yesterday. 

Thy lesson, yesterday, 
I learn through tears that fall like summer rain; 
But through the gloom I catch the sweet refrain: 

"Love's sun can never set, 

Give o'er thy vain regret," 

And crown with love this day and every day. 



69 



A OUynBtmaB MtBBu^ 

Oh Bethlehem ! 
The tides of life with ceaseless ebb and flow 
Sweep o'er the centuries as they come and go; 
Bnt through the mists of ages, sweet and clear. 
The music of the angels' song I hear; 
From thy far-distant plains I catch again 
That angel-message : ^Teace, good will to men/' 
And with the shepherds in the early morn 
I fain would seek the place where Christ was bom. 

Oh Christos! 
Thou never bidst a seeking soul depart; 
Thou hast a Bethlehem for every heart — 
A manger-bed to cradle heaven's King, 
For all who hear the song the angels sing: 
A golden day when thou wilt enter in 
To chase from darkened lives the night of sin; 
In every humble soul Thou wilt be born, 
And every life may have its Christmas morn. 



70 



El}t farting of tf|^ Uaga 

Which way, Lord? 
See yonder road is broad, and smooth, and sweet 

With fragrant flowers; 
The weary traveler may turn aside 

To shady bowers. 
Its vista is so pleasant to my sight, 
I fain would follow where its charms invite — 
That way, Lord? 

Not that way, Lord? 
Bnt see how narrow is the other path. 

How steep and bare; 
No shady nooks, no blooming, fragrant flowers 

Invite me there. 
Beside its entrance-way there stands a cross, 
And they who travel there must suffer loss — 
This way, Lord? 

This is the way; 
But lo! a radiant vision falls upon 

My raptured sight; 
Along that narrow path my Saviour goes. 

By day and night. 
He smiles upon the burdens that I bear. 
Till e'en the lifted cross grows passing fair — 
Yea, this way. Lord. 



71 



This blessed way! 
Whenever my footsteps falter as I climb 

My radiant Guide 
Doth take my hand, and all along the way 

He walks beside; 
Wherever the path is rough he gently leads. 
And from his fulness he supplies my needs — 
Yea, this way, Lord. 

This way, Lord, 
Or any way, if thou wilt be my guide, 

Enough for me 
Through shine and shadow, all along the way 

To follow Thee. 
Thy presence takes the bitter from the loss; 
It is not hard with thee, to bear the cross — 
This way, Lord. 

3^0r ^1^ (Huvttif fnr f ou 

There is never a load of grief or care 
But the Master knows it all; 

There is never a heartache anywhere 
But he sees the tear drops fall. 

There is never a wounded spirit's cry. 
Nor a broken heart's despair. 

But the balm of his tender sympathy 
Is breathed in compassion there. 

There is never a toilsome journey set 
But his mile-stones mark the way; 

And ne'er was a night so dreary yet 
But he gave another day. 

72 



3tt % Btxi^ttB Elitntif 

("And the streets of the city shall be full of boys 
and girls playing in the streets thereof.") 

They are lost to mortal vision, but by faith my eager 

eyes 
Seem to sweep the golden streets within the gates of 

Paradise ; 
And I almost hear the laughter of the children at their 

play- 
Almost see the white-robed little forms along the shin- 
ing way. 

Safely-guarded little children — ^never hungry, never 
cold. 

Playing by the crystal river — never weary, never old. 

Shining eyes, and dimpled faces, merry, tripping little 
feet — 

Never faltering as they lightly tread the radiant gold- 
en street. 

Happy-hearted little children — not a tear to dim 

their eyes; 
Straying, playing, every moment filled with rapturous 

surprise. 
Singing till the heavenly arches with their melodies 

resound. 
And the music of their voices wakes the echoes all 

around. 



73 



Aje, the streets are full of children in the City of De- 
light, 

And it is not idle dreaming — not a vision of the night. 

White-robed little forms are flitting all along the shin- 
ing way, 

And I almost hear the laughter of the children at their 
play. 

What matters it, friend, if the way be long? 

There are wayside flowers, there are bursts of song 

To gladden the fleeting hours. 
The ship sails not till the strong winds blow. 
And the sun shines on, tho' the clouds hang low — 

Why fret at the passing showers? 

You may bear the sunshine wherever you go. 
For a smiling face is the face to show — 

The world hath need of your cheer. 
Why add to its burden of groans and sighs, 
^Twere better by far to call to its eyes 

A smile instead of a tear. 

Be brave, and be glad, and your joy will rest 
Like a nested bird in some troubled breast ; 

Some heart with its sore repining 
Will find the star in the midnight sky. 
And catch the gleam, as the clouds drift by, 

Of the radiant silver lining. 



74 



I 



JAN 20 1904 



